


On a Man's TRUE Name Day - Part One

by SanSanFanFan



Series: The On A.... Day SanSan Smut Series [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-19
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-17 23:50:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2327636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SanSanFanFan/pseuds/SanSanFanFan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Sandor's name day and their escape into the city Sansa has learnt how to call the dog.</p><p>But what if she'd been given the wrong date for his name day?</p><p>[Usual rules apply: chronology is pretty casual, just for fun!]</p>
            </blockquote>





	On a Man's TRUE Name Day - Part One

“Truly, if there is a man alive who would be less inclined to enjoy a feast in his honour, I have not met him yet!”

Sansa was only listening with half an ear as she and the Lady Margaery walked arm in arm through the flower gardens of the Keep…. In her mind’s eye she was back in the shadowy corridor again, remembering every touch of yesterday’s illicit meeting. Especially the ribbon. 

After his name day, three months past, she had thought she had done something wrong again. Oft times they would pass each other in lonely corridors. And as before he would nod a little but then walk on, leaving her watching after his departing back with a slightly open mouth shaped in disappointment. At night she replayed each painfully brief interaction and wondered where she had gone wrong, feeling the same tightening between her legs as she remembered his dark eyes on her every time… before he turned away and carried on walking.

Finally, as he had turned away yet again during one of their increasingly frequent, if ever so frustrating encounters, she had remembered what he had said the night of his name day, weeks back now. “Call the dog. Call and he’ll come running to you” So, she had steeled herself, faced his broad back as it moved away from her, and summoned a stern voice to order him with. “Come here, dog!”

He had turned and with two long strides he was back with her, his hand clasping quickly over her mouth to cover the half giggle, half shriek she made as he picked her up and marched her to the dark shadows behind a spiralling stone staircase. 

He had released her there and set to work on the small filigree clasps that held her overdress together over her shift, his large fingers fumbling with it until she took over for him, deftly unlocking it and letting her dress fall open. He had smoothed the silk shift over her breasts, breathing heavily as he took in the sight of her. Then he had knelt quickly and pushed the material up with one hand, holding it against the softness of her belly as he leant closer to her… her lady’s parts. With his other hand he had gently pushed her legs apart, before running his hand over the mound of her, covered still with such fragile silk. She bucked a little, feeling herself melting down there, turning the small piece of material wet with her lust for him. Then his tongue was on her, over the silk, and she struggled not to sing for him as he worked at her pleasure, teasing and biting with his teeth. Finally she could hold back no more, and his calloused hand covered her mouth as she sang prettily, moaning and sighing as he took her over the edge with his mouth alone.

After, he had helped her to tidy herself, gently returning the clips to her, and brushing hair back to where it had been before he’d captured her. They could not be as reckless here as they had been in the streets, there was no cloak this time to cover a ruined dress.

After that first time when she had called the dog, she knew what to do. Then their adventures in the shadowy alcoves of the keep were almost all she thought of. But eventually uncertainty crept into her game. Apart from when she called him, words were not passed between them. He was generous, she could not criticise that. Each time, he attended to her pleasure over his, making her sing again and again. And although he stood hard in his breeches at their every encounter he would always gently move her hand away if she sought to free him. Later, alone in her chambers she would imagine that after leaving her to go on her way, he went back to his chambers and took himself in hand to finally take his release. The thought brought back the tension between her legs but she had not attempted to… take herself in hand… as he might. Instead she waited for the next time they could be together. But the uncertainty grew, was this all he wanted of her? Hurried, lustful moments in the shadows?

Then two weeks back she’d received her moonblood from the Mother, who had this time also seen fit to send cramps and aches that sent her to her bed. She refused all requests for company, even those from Margaery, and curled herself around a terracotta bed warming pot, using the heat to ease the pain. 

In the morning her maid had come to her with a curious expression on her face and a green glass bottle of red wine that she’d found left outside the door to Sansa’s chambers.

Sansa knew it was not a gift from Margaery, who would likely have barged in anyway with a bottle to share. And Margaery’s bottle would have been one of those sweet gold Arbor wines she preferred. No, only one man she knew drank this dark heady red, and unstopping it to smell the bouquet she had been transported back to the night of his name day… and to the memory of what they had done to each other then. Blushing in her bed, she had told her maid it was just a gift from Lady Margaery. 

But if it was from him, what did it mean? He could not have meant for them to get drunk together, here in the Red Keep… then it struck her. He must have heard she was sick… and the red wine was meant to make her to feel better. In fact, after a couple of glasses her cramps did indeed seem far less horrible.

After that night other strange things were left at the door to her chambers at irregular intervals. First was a small red feather. Then a piece of white sea glass, smoothed almost into a sphere by the waves and reminding her of a snowball… something she had not seen since Winterfell. Then there was a crumpled page from a book written for Lords, telling them how to prepare their lands for seeding. That one confused her until she read it again more closely and found a short paragraph on the types of birds which might spoil a seeding by eating them. Thrushes, nightingales and starlings were mentioned in particular, because even though they were pests, the author thought their songs particularly fine.

And then, just three days ago, there had been the ribbon.

It was a curious scrap of material. It was not overly long, and one end was frayed rather than sealed as though someone had sawn it away from something. And it was a bright and vibrant yellow. Sansa thought about putting it to the back of her drawers with the feather, the sea glass and the page, but she desperately wanted to wear this favour. However, the yellow would be horrendously obvious if she twined it in her hair or pinned it on her dress, given that the dresses made for her in Kings Landing were mostly of purple or blue hues. And also, there were not many houses in Westeros with yellow as a main colour to their sigils.

Eventually a clever idea came to mind, and she spent the next few days with the yellow ribbon tied carefully around her right thigh like a garter. She did not need stockings in Kings Landing, but having his ribbon there thrilled her, and she wished desperately for a chance to show him. 

Finally their paths crossed in a dark part of the keep and she said the three words quickly and quietly, making him smile. 

But when he had her against the wall she gently pushed him back and raised her skirts by her own hands this time. His breath caught in his throat as he saw the ribbon around her pale thigh. But his frenzy really began when she raised her skirts even higher and showed him the absence of her small clothes… 

He picked her up by her waist and raised her up the wall, bringing the heat and stiffness of his… cock… in his breeches against her bared cunt. His mouth was on hers and he pushed hard against her, grinding himself on her as he held her be-ribboned thigh up against his hip. He moaned into her mouth and shuddered as his release came hard upon him. 

As he panted he looked up at her through the dark strands of his hair, his ruined face shadowed in the dark. But there was a smile there that pleased her greatly. His fingers traced over her thigh and towards the small bow on the inside. “Girl. Don’t you know it’s the man that wears the favour?” He gently undid the bow and drew the yellow ribbon around his fingers. Then before she could react he was rubbing her down there, pushing the ribbon over her wetness and the spot where her pleasure was centred. She felt herself climbing that peak as the slick ribbon and his fingers worked on her. She shuddered and moaned and he seized her mouth with his to silence her as she cascaded into her climax.

“Sansa!”

She was brought suddenly back to the present by Margaery’s cry. Yesterday the yellow ribbon and his fingers had made her sing. Today she was back to walking the gardens for the hundredth… or maybe thousandth time with Margaery and pretending that nothing was different. Had he kept it? After he’d help tidy her she’d rushed off to be where she ought, and had not thought on the ribbon twisted in his fingers until much later.

“Sansa! By the gods Sansa, you have been like this for weeks!”

“Forgive me Margaery. You were saying?”

“I said that I did not believe that there was anyone who would be less inclined to want a feast in his honour than him!”

“Who?”

Margaery pointed up the path where Sansa saw now that King Joffrey and his loyal Hound were walking. Joffrey was taking in the adoration of his lords and ladies while the large man shadowed him looking impassive, but most likely grumbling inside.

“The Hound! Joffrey means to have a feast for his name day in a week and I think it a waste for a man who does not look to enjoy such things!” Margaery frowned a little, spoiling her sweet face with wrinkles.

“But… but…” Sansa felt confused and upset all at once.

“I know! It surprised me too. But it seems even Joffrey can like someone enough to try to treat him. Well, they do say the Hound has been by his side more than his father ever was…”

“But it’s not his name day!” Sansa felt desperate. “His name day was the eighth day of the fifth month… near three months ago.”

Margaery paused and thought on it. “No sweetling, I believe Joffrey said it was in a week or so. The fifth day of the eighth month…”

Cold ice drenched Sansa as she realised the mistake. The illiterate scullery maid who cleaned the Kingsguard barracks, who had copied the shapes on the page with the three dogs sigil and brought her the details of his name day… she had twisted the shapes around! He had never actually said it was his name day that night she’d escaped into the city with him. Seven bloody hells!

Sansa blushed as she thought the curse, but then Joffrey and the Hound were on them. Sansa felt as though her heart was trying to escape as she both dreaded seeing Joffrey and was excited by the Hound’s presence.

“My Lady Margaery” Simpered Joffrey, taking her hand and kissing it with his wormy lips. “And my Lady Sansa.” He gave her a curt bow and the two ladies curtsied prettily. “Always I see you two gossiping together! I suppose after we are wed you will need new confidants who match your new status my Lady.” 

Margaery smiled sweetly. “Oh, but I do so hope that Sansa will stay here with us and remain my companion.”

Joffrey huffed and puffed. “Well, perhaps she can be one of your maids.” Then a thought occurred to him and he smiled darkly. “Or perhaps I’ll make her a match with a suitable man.”

Sansa curtsied again, keep her voice level and diffident as she spoke. “I would be happy to marry any man his Grace chose for me.”

He sneered and then sniggered. “Perhaps I’ll even mate you to my dog!”

Sansa’s heart was beating so hard and she carefully avoided the Hound’s eyes as she gave the same subservient voice in reply. “If you had chosen him for me, I would be honoured, my Grace.”

Joffrey turned red as she did not fall into a blubbing mess as he’d hoped. Sansa so wanted to look up at the Hound and see whether her words and her cold tone had hurt the large warrior, but she kept her eyes low and respectful before the king.

“Did you hear? We are to have a grand feast for the Hound’s name day next week.”

The Hound shuffled awkwardly and growled “Didn’t ask for such…”

“But you’ll have one!” Shrieked the king. He was suddenly full of energy, almost capering with glee… and Sansa thought that he looked more like a foul imp than his uncle. “And I have arranged such a good present for my faithful dog!” 

Sansa’s face fell even though she tried hard to maintain her poise. What was he going to do to Sandor?!

“Well, I don’t have time to idly chatter with ladies. I have seven kingdom to rule! Come dog!” he swept off as the two ladies curtsied again. The Hound was slightly slower, and both heard him mutter under his breath as he walked after the striding king. “Buggering fool.”

Margaery held a hand to her mouth as she giggled in shock, and Sansa’s eyes opened wide at the Hound’s disrespect. But she was still worried as to what Joffrey intended, and her face must surely show her concern.

Then Margaery quickly took her arm in hers again, kissed her briefly on the lips and marched her off down the garden path.

“Oh Sansa! The feast sounds so exciting! I wonder what surprises Joffrey has in store… you know what, I truly don’t think I can wait to find out!” She smiled at Sansa and through her distress Sansa thought that there might be an attempt at reassurance in that smile. “I do believe I will work my magic on Joffrey and get him to tell all before the feast. He can be very chatty with the right prompting…”

Sansa smiled back at the curvy brunette, suddenly a weight lifting from her. She still had some time to find out what Joffrey intended. And some time to work out what she could do to stop him shaming the Hound.


End file.
